I'm Only Human
by thattravelergirl
Summary: Shermione Fanfiction inspired by the YouTube video Sherlock Hermione l I'm Only Human Hermione loves Sherlock, and Sherlock loves Hermione. But when both are afraid for the other's safety, Hermione takes a step too far in protecting Sherlock. Can Sherlock overcome a war with his most valuable asset to find Hermione and set things right?


**Author's Note**:

Hey Guys! I am so excited to post this! This story is based off of the YouTube video Sherlock+Hermione l I'm Only Human by LiquidHeart13. If you like the plot thank her! If you like the writing style and the ship, then maybe you would like my other fic Cold Mac & Cheese!

Thanks so much for reading! Definitely check out LiquidHeart13's video, it's SUPER good! Please review and have the best possible day!

~thattraverlergirl

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><p>Sherlock walked into the dimly lit pool. Moriarty had taken Hermione, and as much as his logical side tried, his heart ruled his head, and all he could think of was her. He heard her scream. A scream full of fear and pain and desperation.<p>

Then he walked out. He simply strolled out in front of Sherlock, as though there wasn't a girl screaming in pain somewhere nearby.

"Hello Sherlock. How are you?" the villain smirked, finding humor in his words. Sherlock put on his cool façade before responding.

"Been better. I believe you have someone that matters to me. I would like her back. If it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience." Moriarty sneered. Hermione's screams stopped and Sherlock heard some thumps, then the sound of dragging feet. The door behind Moriarty opened. Sherlock's heart stopped as he saw Hermione. Her right arm was dripping blood and her face had a couple deep cuts. A woman with unruly black curls held Hermione by her brown ones with one arm, and held a knife to her throat. She forced Hermione forward suddenly, causing her to stumble. She wasn't allowed to fall though because the black-haired one yanked Hermione upward. Sherlock made eye contact with Hermione and silently told her that everything would be alright.

"Why do you care?" Moriarty queried, capturing Sherlock's attention once again. He strolled over to the bleeding brunette and trailed a finger down her jawline. "What makes her so special?"

Sherlock grit his teeth, seeing him touch her. She flinched away from the man, but she couldn't go far. Sherlock pulled out John's gun.

"If it wouldn't be too inconvenient." He said, pointing it directly at Moriarty's forehead. He looked at Sherlock as one would look at a child who did something they knew they weren't supposed to.

"Drop her. You're normal," the consulting criminal backed away in disgust as Hermione fell to the ground, barely breathing. "You're boring. I'm bored. Let's go." He walked through the still open, the black-haired one following reluctantly. The door closed shut behind them and Sherlock ran faster than he ever had for the hundred yard dash to Hermione.

"Are you okay?" Stupid question, he scolded himself. Of course she wasn't okay. He went to push back the sleeve on her right arm, but the barely conscious girl stopped him. Sherlock checked her and though none of her injuries were fatal, she was still injured. He picked her up carefully, and carried her bridal style out of the horrible room.

When they got to the hospital, Hermione was rushed away to give her pain medication and tend to her wounds, while Sherlock waited with Molly. The pathologist had been dating Greg Lestrade for two months, and she was about 99.99% over Sherlock. There were sometimes when his deep voice would cause butterflies to flit about in her stomach, but then again, that happened to every heterosexual woman in his vicinity. Molly allowed him to play with a tongue while he waited for a nurse to collect him for Hermione, but only because he was distraught after what had happened. He diced the muscle and exposed certain chunks to certain chemicals. He was just putting a cube of tongue into a pot of mercury when a nurse showed up. He stood immediately, and rushed through the doors without a word. When he got to Hermione's room he found her washing her face by the sink, having detached herself from all the tubes that were trapping her to the bed. Sherlock rushed over to her and forced her to lay back down on the bed again, insisting that she was unwell and needed rest.

"It wasn't exactly the best day of my life either, but I need to keep moving! How soon do you think they will let me out of here?" Sherlock shook his head called for a nurse. A large black American woman in scrubs came in and chastised the brunette.

"Honey, believe me, if I were you, I'd stay on these drugs as long as they will allow you to! They make you feel great! Now don't you make me come in here again!" Hermione smiled despite herself and thanked the nurse.

"When can I be discharged?" Hermione asked as politely as possible.

"Well, your wounds aren't too deep, and they were clean when we got to them. I'd say you should be good to go by morning."

The nurse left and Sherlock sat beside Hermione's bed awkwardly, unsure of what to say. What the hell? He was Sherlock Bloody Holmes and when was he ever unsure. He was growing weaker, ever since he allowed his heart access in his head. But then again, he loved Hermione. He never thought he would ever love anyone, in that way. Yet here he was, sitting beside Hermione Granger's bedside, with his mouth open as though he wanted to say something. Hermione smiled at his confusion and leaned over and planted her lips on his.

The kiss was slow and tender. Sherlock put his hand on her face and pulled away. When they kissed was the only time, besides when he was high, that his mind could focus on one thing at once. Of course that one thing was her, but it was relaxing not having so many things buzzing about in his head.

"You need to rest. It's late, and in the morning I'll take you home," he compromised. Hermione nodded and lay back on the bed and closed her eyes.

Molly walked in a couple hours later to tell Sherlock her shift was over, only to find them both asleep, Hermione on the bed, Sherlock in the chair next to her, holding hands. Molly was shocked at seeing Sherlock asleep. John and Hermione both complained often of how little he slept. The shock was soon chased away as Molly enjoyed the adorableness of the two. They reminded her of how otters fall asleep holding hands so they won't drift away from each other. What a random thing to think of! Molly's diabolical side whispered to her, and she snapped a picture of the couple and sent it to Greg. He would love it.

The next morning Hermione was discharged and Sherlock took her to 221b. As soon as they walked through the door John ran down the stairs.

"Why didn't you tell me Hermione was at the hospital? I only knew because Lestrade texted me this just now." John held out his phone, which displayed the picture Molly had taken.

"Where the hell did Lestrade get that?" Sherlock said as he snatched the phone away from John. Hermione laughed as John ushered her upstairs. Hermione was then escorted to Sherlock's room where she was instructed to sleep. She crawled into the bed, not too reluctantly, and was soon soothed by the smell of Sherlock. Said man started playing the violin soon after. Not in the way he normally did, crazy and erratic, but he played her favorite piece, and she was soon lulled to sleep.

_Searing pain shot through her right arm. It was her worst nightmare come to life. She thought this maniac had died during the war, three years ago. She had had nightmare about the first round of this torture countless times. She hadn't had it in a while, in the sound knowledge that Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. She screamed out in torment as the knife kissed her skin again, digging out another unknown word into her right arm. _

"_It's all your fault you know. Sherlock's on his way, he's walking straight into danger because of you."_

_Another letter. More screaming._

"_Are you wondering what word I'm spelling out now? I bet you are. This is a special request, from my boss."_

_Another letter. Even more screaming. That was the fourth letter so far. How many were in this word?_

"_My last… creation… was a reminder. You will never truly fit into my world. This one is another. You will never truly belong in theirs. Aren't you a little freak?"_

_The last letter. The last screams._

_A small alarm went off._

"_Showtime!"_

_She grabbed Hermione by her hair. The brunette was too weak to stand, and she fell a couple times. Bellatrix kicked her hard in the side each time._

"_Up! Up!" She hissed._

_She grabbed her hair again and put the knife to her throat, making sure she wouldn't try to fall again._

"_No, please…" Hermione whimpered. The maniac shoved her forward._

Hermione woke up with a start. Sherlock was sitting on the bed next to her, concern etched into his face.

"You were having a nightmare." He stated. Oh really, she thought.

"I'm fine," she lied. Sherlock climbed into the bed next to her and cocooned her in his arms. Instead of relaxing like she normally would, she tensed. She caused this, she thought. It was all her fault. Sherlock stroked her big hair, coaxing her to relax. She eventually did. But the nagging sensation at the back of her mind didn't leave.

He held her in his arms, stroking her hair. She probably thought it was to comfort her, but it was really for his own sake. All the hurt, the pain that she had gone through was all because of him. He felt helpless. He hated feeling like this. He should have protected her, kept her safe, but then this maniac showed up. He took her, and tortured her. He looked at Hermione. She was fast asleep. He had noticed he sensitivity to her left arm. She would touch it unknowingly whenever the subject of the Wizarding War came around. He had found out within a week of knowing her, and she confided in him some vague details about who she was in her world. That black-haired woman had been the same woman who had given her her other scar. She never allowed him to see it, but his curiosity outweighed the part of him telling him to respect her wishes. He slid back the sleeve of her left arm first.

Mudblood

Hermione had told him about the blood statuses. It was as stupid as all bigotry. But to Hermione it was an actual reality that she had had to live with for most of her early life. This scar was a reminder that she wasn't fully accepted in her world.

He gently grabbed her other arm, the one with the fresh wound. It had healed alarmingly fast, probably because of her magic. She didn't have any bandages on it any more. He slid back the sleeve.

Witch

That was surely Moriarty's doing. He would surely find it extremely amusing. It was his little was of saying that she wasn't welcome here either. Sherlock slid her sleeves down again and tightened his hold on her. He would never let her get hurt like this again.

Hermione buttered her toast quietly at around 2 in the afternoon. Sherlock had gone to Scotland Yard this morning to inform Lestrade about the events of last night. She sighed as she put down the bread and butter. It was all her fault. If she had told him about Bellatrix and the others then he may have been able to… do… something! Then he wouldn't be in such danger. She thanked whatever God there was that Moriarty got bored and didn't hurt Sherlock. A stray tear trickled down her cheek. She shook her head and wiped it away quickly. When it all boiled down to it, it was all her fault that Sherlock was in danger. A horrible thought occurred to her. What if he didn't remember? If he didn't remember anything about her or the Wizard World. Would he be safer? She shook the thought out of her head and finished buttering her now cold toast.

Sherlock was on his way home from Scotland Yard. Lestrade had been flabbergasted by Sherlock's recount of last night's events. He left out the bit about the psychopathic witch that tortured Hermione. In fact he left out a lot of the story because the DI would interrupt him to ask questions, so he had already been gone an hour and a half when he told Lestrade that that was all he had to tell and that he had to go. He didn't want to leave Hermione alone for too long. She was distraught after last night, as much as she tried to put on a façade for him. He hated that she felt like she couldn't show him that she wasn't as strong as he, but she was extraordinary for not being a Holmes brother. She had been tortured, for the second time, and she still held herself together. He admired her for it, but he knew that if she kept bottling everything she was feeling up inside of her, that she would eventually burst. It happened to even him, hence his drug habit.

"Hermione?" Sherlock called when he got home. He went into the kitchen. Hermione was crying at the table. She was balled in on herself holding her wand in front of her.

"Hermione?" Sherlock rushed over to her. He held her face in his hands, brushing away the tears with his thumbs. He would have done anything to see her smiling instead of crying. It tore at his heart to see her like this.

"What is it?" he asked. Hermione sniffled and brushed the rest of the tears off her face with her sleeve. She finally looked into his eyes. She was breaking. She twined her arms around his neck. That was invitation enough for the detective, and he pulled her into his arms. He lifted her up and sat on the chair she had occupied, and simply held her, stroking her hair. She pulled away enough to plant her lips on his. Sherlock slid a hand behind her ear and slowly stroked her cheek with his thumb. His mind went completely blank as his senses filled with her smell, her taste, the way that one curl was tickling his nose. Hermione broke away, though Sherlock leaned in begging for more, and stood up. She backed away from the detective as if she were terrified. She held up her wand, tears once again streaming down her face. Sherlock furrowed his brows.

"I love you," she whispered, crying rivers, "Obliviate"

A loud crack resonated throughout the Burrow, signifying that someone had arrived. Ginny looked up from making dinner to see a distraught Hermione falling to the ground, drowning in her sobs. Ginny dropped the knife and ran to her friend. Hermione looked up to see her ginger friend racing toward her.

"Hermione! Are you okay? What's wrong?" Ginny dropped to the ground and rubbed her friend's back soothingly. Hermione dove into Ginny's arms and cried on her shoulder. She stayed like that for 10 minutes, until Hermione could control her breathing. Slowly the brunette began to explain her relationship with the great Sherlock Holmes.

"Where's Hermione?" John asked as he walked through the door of 221b. Sherlock was at his chemistry set staring intently through his microscope. Sherlock looked at John, confused.

"Who? Don't try to trick me John you know it doesn't work," he said, and returned to his microscope. John mouth opened in surprise.

"Err… Hermione Granger... she was…what are you playing at?" Sherlock realized John actually thought there was a woman named Hermione, silly name, in their flat.

"Where is she? Sherlock? Is she okay?" Sherlock saw John begin to get legitimately scared for this ghost woman.

"Hermione? Hermione, Where are you?" John shouted about the flat. Sherlock went to John, who was now searching said detective's room.

"John. Have you had any major head injuries while you were out? You really must be imagining things. How could I forget a woman that was in our flat?" John stopped arguing and went to look around for evidence of the missing woman. Sherlock must have deleted her. That would be the only way that he could possibly forget her. But what would cause Sherlock to do that? Though the detective would rather die than admit it, he loved her deeply.

Almost a year had passed since Hermione's heart had broken into a million pieces. She had stayed at the burrow for a month, so she could collect herself. Then she moved into her parent's old house. She had never been able to find them, but they hadn't sold the house when they left, and it was completely paid off. So she lived there. It was agony, walking through the empty rooms, but it was for the better. She got a paper every day to check up on her beloved detective, and she watched from a torturous distance as Sherlock went on his fantastic adventures. The ones she used to go on. She craved the adrenaline rush again, but she made it so the likelihood of them running into each other was insanely narrow. She missed him every day. She had tried to get over him, to date other people, but no one made her feel like Sherlock made her feel.

Sherlock was bored. He had been shooting the wall until John confiscated his gun. He was restless. It wasn't his fault. And even when he decided to sleep, he never got any rest. There was this woman who haunted his dreams, every time he slept. She was beautiful, which if the emotionless detective noticed, then she really must be goddess-like! They never really did anything, just stayed in each other's company. Once he dreamed of her laughing. It had taken his breath away! It was like the tinkling of bells. He had never noticed laughs much, unless they paid a contributing factor to a case. The detective sighed, stood up, and went to his bookshelf. If he had nothing to do maybe he could look for something of importance to memorize. He ran his hand along the shelf, until he found a book unfamiliar to him. This didn't make sense. John wasn't a man of literature. He never contributed to the bookshelf. Mrs. Hudson didn't have many books either, and what ones she did have, she kept on a small bookshelf downstairs. Sherlock slid the book carefully from its place on the shelf. Whoever owned this book before he loved it dearly. The spine was barely cracked, and the leather had been properly looked after. It hit him like ton of bricks.

"_Could you pass me a pen?" Sherlock asked. Hermione looked up from her book, an old, leather bound copy of Hogwarts: A History. _

"_What?"_

"_I said can you pass me a pen."_

_The brunette snatched a pen from the table in front of her and threw it like a dart at him. He caught it in his hand, and she snickered. Hermione got up to stand beside him._

"_What's the case?" she asked._

"_This graffiti showed up two nights ago between 11:30 and 11:31 at a financial building." He gestured to a picture of Chinese symbols. "The next morning, John and I found Van Coon, who handled the Hong Kong accounts, dead in his flat, with the door locked from the inside."_

"_Does he have a maid service?" she asked. Sherlock smiled and shook his head._

"_Yes, but it wasn't her. Good thinking though!"_

"_Those symbols, they're Hang Zou! Ancient Chinese numbers!"_

_Sherlock looked at her, surprised. _

"_How did you know?" he went to the computer and searched the symbols._

"_I studied ancient runes, they sort of fell in there."_

"_You studied ancient runes?" he asked._

"_Are those eyeballs?" Hermione asked, rushing toward the detective._

"_Yes…"_

"_Interesting. What are you doing with them?" Sherlock looked at her, but she didn't notice._

"_Sherlock Holmes and his pretty companions!" said the Chinese leader. "We need a volunteer from the audience!"_

_Sarah and Hermione's mouths were bound. Hermione stared at Shan, the leader, stonily. Next to her Sarah whimpered and whined in fear. Sherlock could see, and hear, them all clearly. Fear gripped his heart with a hand like ice, and squeezed. _

"_Ah! Yes, you will do nicely." Sherlock's heart stopped when she gestured to Hermione. She silently let herself be positioned in front of the crossbow. _

"_Please!" John pleaded, "I'M NOT SHERLOCK HOLMES!"_

"_I don't believe you!"_

"_You should you know! Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him!" Sherlock spoke up. Hermione's head whipped around, her eyes alive with hope. It made the ice hands of fear melt slightly. Until he saw the sand slowly dripping from the bag, the weight going lower, and lower, and lower._

"_How would you describe him, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?"_

"_Late?"_

"_Hlade?" They said in unison, though Hermione was muffled by her gag._

_Sherlock spouted some more nonsense about why Shan shouldn't fire her gun, but his entire consciousness was on Hermione and the arrow pointed directly at her pretty face. Sherlock crept behind one of the smugglers and knocked them out with a single blow._

_He was close enough now. He ran to Hermione and started to unbind her. Then a strip of cloth went around his neck and tightened. The man who held the rag pulled Sherlock away from Hermione, and then all of a sudden tripped on a rock Sherlock knew wasn't there before. He ignored it and ran back to Hermione, who was then unbound. She slipped out of her chair mere seconds before the arrow went halfway through her chair. She turned on him and threw her arms around his neck. After a moment she pulled away far enough for her to plant a firm kiss in the detective's lips. Sherlock's senses filled with her. It was far too short for his taste, but he soon busied himself with untying John and Sarah._

Sherlock gasped and dropped the book. It was the woman from his dreams! His mind ran at a million miles. He finally knew her name. Hermione. How wonderfully unique. But those weren't dreams. Sherlock remembered John going crazy almost exactly a year ago because some woman named Hermione had gone missing. Could it be the same woman? They weren't dreams, what he had just experienced. More like he had found an old rusty door in his mind palace that he hadn't opened for ages. But he remembered them kissing. Why on earth would he kiss anyone? He could still feel the way he had felt when she had kissed him. His mind had gone completely blank, something that hadn't happened since his drug habit. All he could think about was her. Her smell, her taste, the way one of her wild curls had tickled his nose. Sherlock instantly went into his Mind Palace, hoping to find the door that had let loose these memories. He was wandering through the wing of the deleted, where he put all the things he didn't want to remember, when he came across it. The door was large, ornate and rusty, though most of the doors in this area were. It once was a thing of great beauty, with intricate vines and flowers etched into it, but time had made it ugly. The thing that he found most interesting about this door was that it was missing its handle. He tried pressing certain places on the door, and even tried knocking, but there was no way to open that door. He surfaced back into reality and grit his teeth. He hated asking for help, but he needed to find out who this woman was. He slowly dialed his brother.

"What is it, Sherlock? I'm extremely busy"

"I need your help." A short pause.

"What is it?"

"Did a woman named Hermione live with me about a year ago?"

"What- Why do you need to ask?"

"Something's wrong with my mind palace. I found the door for her in the deleted wing, but it's missing a handle. I need all the information you have on her."

"Why don't you come pay me a visit?"

Sherlock sighed. He had wanted to avoid his brother seeing him so… unsure of his own mind, but he needed to find out who this woman was.

"Fine. I'll be there in 20 minutes. I won't be needing a car, I'll take a cab." He hung up. As he was leaving, a piece of paper on the floor caught his eye. It must have fallen from the book when he dropped it. It held two words in feminine script.

"I'm Sorry."

22 minutes later Sherlock was staring at a moving picture of Hermione.

More memories flooded him. Sherlock sat down immediately and went into his mind palace. He ran to the deleted wing to find the handle was once again fitted to the door. Inside he remembered everything that ever happened between them. He walked past a bureau of conversations. He opened a drawer to find a memory of them talking about his eating habits. He went to a bookshelf full of feelings. Here was where he found many memories of tender moments. He had a whole shelf dedicated to kisses, not because they were frequent, but because each and every one blew his hair back. He then turned to a large trunk, old, but used frequently. It had a strange suit on it for a place called Hogwarts. He sensed the importance of the case. He lifted the large top, and was flooded with memories of magic, of Hermione demonstrating spells and teaching him of her past. He studied those for a while. Magic... it really did exist. He stood and walked to the main table he had passed on his way in. There were memories scattered over the table, as though he were going through them when the whole room relocated itself to the deleted wing and lost its doorknob. Hermione's screams echoed through the pool on the night of his first face-to-face encounter with Moriarty, not including when he was Jim from IT. Hermione was forced into the room, her arm dripping blood. He remembered the terror, was she okay? The guilt, he had caused this. And the determination to get her out of there and somewhere safe. He looked at the next memory. It was soon after the night in the pool. Hermione kissed him, a kiss fully of sorrow and regret for what she was about to do. She stood and pointed her wand at him. The last of the memory was of her, silently crying a river, and whispering, "I love you… Obliviate."

Sherlock arose from his mind palace with newfound determination. He must find her. Mycroft was sitting at his desk, scribbling on some paperwork.

"You've been under for four hours." The older Holmes said without looking up.

"Where is she?"

Mycroft sighed, "She is currently living in her parent's old house in Surrey. She has arrangements this evening, having dinner with some old friends of hers. Given her travel time, and that it is now four hours later in the day than it was when you went under, and the time of the reservations, she will pass five blocks north and three east in three minutes. I would suggest you run."

Anthea opened the door, holding his coat out to him. Sherlock grabbed it and ran out the door, not before forcing a thank you to escape him in Mycroft's general direction. Sherlock ran faster than he ever had. He shoved people out of his way, shouting at them to move. He cut through alleyways, and jumped over minor construction and before he knew it, three minutes had passed and he was exactly where he needed to be. Then he saw her. She was a hundred yards away, heading in his direction. She was beautiful in a red dress and black peacoat. The cold of the night made her cheeks and nose glow bright pink, and she was radiant. By the time all these thoughts had passed she was a few feet from the alley where he was hidden. When she passed he reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her into his arms as she stumbled his way. She took a step back before she recognized him. Then she did. Her face was a mixture of all the feelings she had kept bottled up for the last year, and their lips crashed together before either of them knew what happened. Sherlock pressed her against the alley wall, and gained dominance. It wasn't a sweet or slow or tender kiss as their others had been, one that was hungry. Each starved of the other and wanting to make up for all the lost time. One of Hermione's hands tangled in Sherlock's curls and the other held the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Sherlock twined his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. They broke off unwillingly when the need for air became too great.

"Why did you leave?" Sherlock asked in between pants.

"I was scared. I thought I had put you in danger, and I thought you would be safer if you forgot about me." She answered, realizing now that it had been a horrible decision.

"Don't you ever do that to us again," he ordered, "I don't want to be without you again." He laughed. "Oh great you've made a romantic out of me." They laughed.

"I promise."

They kissed again, and again, and again, until Hermione became very late for her dinner reservations. She texted Ginny and apologized, saying she had come down with something and would have to cancel. They went back to 221b for each to explain their year. When Sherlock walked in he saw the paper. It had changed. It now held three words, with great meaning.

"I Love You."


End file.
